


State Road 25

by CallipygianGoldfish



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, First Meetings, Hitchhiking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallipygianGoldfish/pseuds/CallipygianGoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He might be many things, but Steve Rogers is not the type of man who’d ignore a hitchhiker in the pouring rain, even if it is midnight. And yet this trip might end up even more adventurous than he’d first thought…</p>
            </blockquote>





	State Road 25

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song of the same name by ThouShaltNot :)

If he was a little less stupid, a little more selfish, and a lot less kind, Steve Rogers might never have picked up a hitchhiker on the verge of State Road 25 at a little after midnight. 

At this time, there’s pretty much no one else on the road, and his van's cruising happily back towards the city, from yet another protection detail. Long hours are pretty much his forte, and he's definitely surprised to see someone standing on the grass with just a small rucksack and a beanie to shelter him from the heavy drizzle. Steve almost misses the outstretched hand in his headlights, waving to him as he passes by. Doubling back, he stops with his window wound down and sticks his head out. 

“Need a ride?” He hopes fervently that the man's not a serial killer or just plain mad, but Steve comforts himself with the knowledge that if he can take down armed hostage takers then he can deal with a pale brunet who probably doesn't even weigh the same as him when soaking wet.

“Hey dude,” the stranger says, mouth quirking in a small smile at him. “I'd not normally ask this, but I'm so tired right now you wouldn't believe it- don't suppose you could drop me off at the stone houses that're over just a few more hills?” He looks up under his lashes at Steve, and Steve can't help but notice the day old stubble scattered across his handsome features. They're around the same age, the man holding himself so carefully, not forgetting for one second that Steve's a stranger and a possible threat. Steve can recognize a fellow soldier anywhere, but he doesn't say a word.

“The ones with the classic porches?” he asks, having driven the route a hundred times since being back home.

“Yeah, they’re the ones.” The man nods and gestures to Steve's van. “I know I'm probably going to get your seat wet, but I told my sister I'd be there for dinner, and I have a feeling she's gonna start worrying if I'm not there soon, you know?” He looks apologetic, and Steve nods to his right.

“Don't fret it, hop in,” he says, leaning over to fling the door open for the man, who shakes himself off before settling in. 

“I'm Bucky, by the way,” the man says as Steve pulls away.

“Steve. Nice to meet you.” The van continues on its way as Steve sneaks a peek at Bucky. The other man doesn't seem tired despite his words, he's breathing steadily with no sign of yawning, and staring out the window with a vacant gaze. Steve wonders if he just wanted some company, and thinks back to what Sam had said the same day. He supposes that picking up hitchhikers doesn't really count as meeting new people, but he'll be able to tell Sam he did something other than work, right?

“Hey,” Steve says to get Bucky's attention. “Wanna tune the radio? I lost all my stations a few days ago, haven't had the time to get them back.” He doesn’t tell Bucky the way he lost them- punching the radio hard and swiveling the dials when it suggested anti-vaxxers were only doing what was best for their children.

“Oh boy, yes.” Bucky grins and his entire face lights up, as if amused by some private joke. “I used to be the DJ king, back along.” He leans over, flipping the switches with his right hand, and continues to talk. “I suppose you're from the city then?”

“Brooklyn, born and raised.”

“No shit.” Bucky looks at Steve with raised eyebrows. “Me too, a long time ago. What's a guy like you doing out here?”

“Work. Ain't it always?” He doesn't elaborate and Bucky doesn't ask, just nods at Steve's words. An easy silence settles over the front seats as Bucky fiddles, trying to tune the reluctant radio into some sort of agreement, and Steve suppresses a smile at the way Bucky bites his lip in concentration. He can't help it though when Bucky gives a little laugh in delight as the speakers crackle into life and the late night news comes on.

“Hah, still got it.” Bucky pats the dashboard and settles back on his seat. “Once fixed one of these bloody things in the middle of the fucking desert, sand everywhere, man.”

“Oh yes, I remember that well,” Steve says as Bucky raises his eyebrows at him. “In food, in your eyes, down your pants, I can happily say I've never been happier to stand on grass when I finally got to see it.”

Bucky snorts. “True. So what's up with you then, Stevie? Got a girl waiting at home for you?”

“Hell no,” says Steve, smiling at the road, reminded of so many similar talks by his well-meaning friends.

“Got a guy then?” 

“No, but I'm not picky.” Bucky doesn’t seem fussed by the idea, which Steve refuses to let himself find pleasing, even a little bit. He wonders if this counts as flirting, then decides he doesn't really mind.

“Nice to know.” Bucky smirks at Steve and falls back into silence as they both watch the pavements flow past them. After a while, the smile falls from his face and Steve watches out the corner of his eye as Bucky sighs. Steve notices a familiar line of trees up ahead, and waits a few minutes before speaking.

“We're almost there, Bucky.” Steve says, glancing sideways again to see Bucky scrub a hand across his face. 

“Brilliant, thank you so much,” Bucky says, closing his eyes. “The kindness of strangers is something else, huh?” The street lamps flash over the van and light up Bucky's face every so often, giving Steve the chance to study the man. 

He's about to suggest Bucky can fix his heating system as well when he notices that Bucky's never shown his left hand to Steve, despite it being between them. The road's pretty straight, so he chances another look at the man next to him to see his left sleeve going straight into his jacket's pocket, the fabric twisted and knotted in an impossible way that Steve's seen before.

Oh. Steve's going to win the annual prize of 'most inattentive idiot' this year for sure.

“Which house is it?” he asks, inhaling quickly as they pull into a street with large houses placed every so often, large lawns and trees lit up by the lamps. 

“Number nine,” Bucky replies as the house in question approaches. “Hey, Steve?”

“Mmm?” Steve hums as he pulls up alongside somebody's garden. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Steve smiles and Bucky reaches for the handle, tugging it briefly before turning to Steve with a questioning look. “Oh shit, hold on, sometimes that door sticks, let me. I promise I'm not trying to kidnap you.” Bucky raises his eyebrows in a grin as Steve takes the keys and jumps out, before stepping around to the passenger door. He shivers as the wind bites at him and the relentless drizzle becomes a freezing gust of needles at his skin. Opening the door, he stares at the inside of his van. 

With no Bucky in sight.

“Okay.” Eyes narrowed at the empty passenger seat, Steve frowns. “That's weird. Bucky?” 

There's no sign of anyone else along the road, only a few other parked cars every so often and Steve's hazard lights illuminate the darkness next to the van. There's nothing there, not even movement, and Steve wonders if he’s much more sleep deprived than he originally thought. Not knowing where the hell Bucky had gone, Steve glances towards the house, light spilling out through a gap where the curtains don't quite close. 

Reasoning that if the lights are still on, then somebody's still awake, Steve steels himself and goes to knock on the door. The sound is loud in the empty street, and a minute later it's opened by a woman a little older than him, with soap suds halfway up her arms, holding an empty cafetière.

“Ma'am? Sorry to disturb you, but-”

“Oh no.” Cutting Steve off, her face falls at the sight of Steve standing there, and she closes her eyes briefly before beckoning him in. “Come in, come in. Is he dead? Did they find him?”

“What?”

“You're from the army, right?” The woman's eyes grow wide as she ushers Steve into a small living room, and he tries not to trip over a large train set, the rails sticking out from under a couch. He turns around and answers her.

“Well, yes, but no, I've been out for two years?” He doesn’t mean it to sound like a question, but he can’t help wondering why that’s her first reaction, if she’s had previous visits from people just like him.

“Oh thank god.” The woman sets down the coffee pot and collapses back onto a chair. Face in her hands, she takes a moment before looking up at Steve, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Sorry, but uh, if you're not from the army, why're you here?”

“I...” Steve pauses, thinking about it. “I guess I wanted to make sure you were okay, I mean, there was this guy, and he said he wanted to get here, but then he disappeared and I worried he might have- okay you're obviously fine, I'm sorry, I'll leave.” Making an effort to stop rambling, he backs away slowly as the woman stares at him. He pauses in his path to the door as she starts to laugh with relief. 

“Oh God. Thank fuck. He's alive. He's alive...” Steve blinks as she trails off and wipes her fingers over her eyes. “I'm so sorry, forgive me. Uh, would you like something to drink? I'm Becca, and the man you picked up wasn't mad, or at least not in the way you’re thinking. Do you need to go, or would you like to stay for a bit?”

“I don't need to go anywhere,” Steve says, wondering if there is more to this story than a late night out. “I'm Steve, and what do you mean he's alive?”

“My brother, James. He's a bit late this year, it’s normally Fall, and I did wonder whether... Well, I suppose I owe you an explanation, right? Tea? I'd offer you coffee, but, well...” Becca smiles as she nods towards the soapy cafetière.

“Tea would be nice, thank you.” He wonders if there's anyone else in the house or if they're just very heavy sleepers, and says as much. Becca walks into what Steve thinks is her kitchen, before returning with some cups and saucers, and he hears a kettle boiling behind her.

“Oh, no, the kids are with their father this weekend, it's only me and the cat.” Taking a tray into the living room, Becca points towards a very large ginger cat sat in front of an electric fireplace. “Going back to the man you picked up, did he say anything to you? About me, about him?”

Steve racked his brains. “Only that he was from Brooklyn. And he mentioned sand, but I sort of guessed he was a soldier, is that right?”

“Yeah, all that's true. And you're not the first. Nor do I suspect you'll be the last, either. Or at least, I hope you won't be the last person to come up here at one am wondering about a crazy person wanting to get to my house.”

“Oh yes?”

“Someone called the police once, that was fun.” Becca passes Steve a cup and places a packet of cookies on the coffee table. “The man you talked to, was he kinda dirty, and white? With eyes like a racehorse’s?”

Steve frowns, and remembers. “Yes, he was.”

“He's been gone since 1995. I saw him once when he came back home, beaten up pretty bad, and his mind wasn't much better. And then he left.” Becca smiles weakly and stares at a point behind Steve's head. “But he's still alive. Still alive.”

Steve feels like something has carved out the inside of his chest, sympathy welling up for the woman in front of him. “Twenty years ago? He's been gone for two decades?”

“Twenty one this year,” says Becca. “I still hope he'll come back, you know.”

“Where was he posted?”

“Why? You in the army twenty years ago?”

“I was, as a matter of fact. Captain Steve Rogers,” Steve says, “but his face didn't look familiar, so I don't think he was one of mine.”

“The truth is, I've forgotten where he went,” Becca admits. “I can probably find it somewhere, but he took his dog tags and everything when he came back that one time. Don’t think he wanted to be reminded of it. He was a war hero, you know, Sergeant James Barnes, an incredible marksman.” 

“Barnes?” Steve sits straight up. “I knew a Barnes once. Not personally, but everyone did.”

Becca nods at him. “Yeah, he made quite a commotion when he came back from the dead, you know. Saved the lives of twelve other POWs, and all he could do was blame himself for the ones he didn't get to in time.” She sighs, and the memory of that day comes flooding back to Steve. He'd been with his unit in the mess hall, when somebody had called in with news of some lost soldiers, returned from the depths of hell itself. There was a hell of a party that night.

“What happened to him?”

“Discharged with honors, a medal, and then nothing. He was only nineteen.” Becca sniffs. “I wish I could tell you he was fine, but there's nothing in the world to prepare you for that.”

“He didn't get therapy or anything?”

“None. Offered, but he refused. And of course it just spiraled.” Becca sighs and takes a long drink. “I don't think he's coming back anytime soon, but he lets us know he's alive. And that's enough.”

“Is it?” Steve wonders, already knowing the answer.

“No. 'Course not. But we take what we're given, right? God, we were close when we were younger. He was so protective of me with any of my boyfriends, yet insisted we did everything you could easily categorize as reckless shit.” Eyes rolling, Becca asks Steve where he's from. When he tells her, she smiles.

“Thought I recognized that accent. Bucky had it too, we all did. My little sister, Rikki, she tries to find him with the catchphrase 'he's the Brooklyn hobo who looks like he'll eat your children', and she's still surprised when people tell her they're not interested.”

“I wonder why,” Steve says, amused at the image. There's a pause, and Steve ponders where Bucky is now, what he's doing. It occurs to him that Becca must think those things every day, and suddenly Steve feels _old_. He's seen far too many young men leave combat with nothing but the nightmares in their heads, and at least he's had the luck to have some of the best help he can get. He shakes himself mentally, and sees Becca considering him with knowing eyes.

“I think I've got to be off soon, sorry. It's quite late, but thank you for telling me all that,” says Steve as he finishes his drink.

“Well then, thank you for listening. And for picking Bucky up, I really do appreciate it.” Becca stands and Steve follows her to the front porch. “Have a safe journey home, Steve, and I'm sorry I sort of unleashed the emotional kraken on you.” She holds out a hand, and Steve takes it, before nodding and turning away.

“Steve?” Becca pauses in the doorway as Steve sets off down the path back to his van. “I was thinking, if you ever see him again, can you tell him something for me?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Tell him we still love him. Tell him he's still got a home here, yeah? He can still come home, if he wants.” Becca's voice cracks, and she takes a deep breath before smiling shakily at Steve and closing the door behind her.

“I will,” Steve says to an empty porch. After what he's learned tonight, he thinks that if he ever sees Bucky Barnes again, he's not letting him go without at least delivering his sister's message. And if he can feed a decent meal into him, well, that's just Steve being nice to a stranger.

*

In seven months time, when he sees Bucky walking along the same stretch of road, Steve doesn't even pause before pulling up beside him and opening the passenger door.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Between the kindness of strangers and the rumble of the road,_  
>  _There's a slow kind of remembering that takes years to unfold,_  
>  _It's in the dahlias by the ditches and the backseat of a car,_  
>  _Yes I am grateful to the strangers who have taken me this far._  
>   
>  And thank you for reading! :) Come visit me on tumblr? callipygiangoldfish.tumblr.com 


End file.
